soldier boy
by watching every sunset
Summary: Draco couldn't help but repent.


**A/N: Rated for swears. **

**Draco Malfoy attended Fred Weasley's funeral. He stood in the far back, careful not to be seen, and after he thought everyone had left, he lingered a bit. He'd never let on that he secretly thought the twins were quite funny, and he was truly sorry he'd been part of the reason that Fred died. He felt that way in regards to everyone that had been hurt and lost in the war, but he could barely get up the courage to go to Fred's funeral, let alone anyone else's. Draco would never tell anyone he was there, and George would never tell anyone he saw him cry, apologizing to a headstone.**

Grief. What is grief?

It's a word, but only a fool wouldn't know that. A noun, most definitely. A word that applied to everybody around him? Hell yes.

But what does it _mean_?

Grief. Definition- _deep sorrow caused by someone's death. Deep mental anguish. Keen mental suffering or anguish over a loss._

Definitions, however, were simply empty words. What does grief _feel _like?

How the fuck should he know?

It's fair to say that Draco Malfoy hasn't had much to grieve about in his short life (_short; that's two years less than __his__ and only seven less than __hers__)_; it's fair to say that the only people that ever died in his life were never close to him- Grandparents, Great Uncles and Aunts that he never knew- and it's fair to say that the family that has died more recently was equally as far away. _So why does this feel so fucking different?_

Grief would not be the right word to describe this feel. How can you feel _deep sorrow_ over people you barely knew?

Now _guilt_ on the other hand... yeah, that covers it.

It's icy where he's standing- too cold for a day in May. The weather is grieving, but he isn't. At least, he doesn't think he is.

He's here, mainly, because he didn't come yesterday- to the one he probably _should _have been at, the one his _Mother_ should have been at, as a sign of peace at least- but was too scared. In fact, he barely plucked up the courage to attend today. Well, he never was a Gryffindor.

It's all a sea of orange-and-black as the casket is lowered into the ground and the wrenching sobs grow louder and it's almost more than he can take. He's positioned himself far, far in the back, away from the rest so as not to be seen and thankfully every other person is too caught up in their grief to notice.

Secretly, Draco had always found Fred Weasley rather humorous- of course, he may never have _showed_ it but he always did have a hard time keeping the laughter in whenever a joke was pulled. To think that this would never happen again, that Fred would never again laugh and George would no longer have the heart to, made the guilt even rawer.

It seems like hours, although it could simply have been minutes, before the grieving family and friends finally take their leave. It is only after he is absolutely sure that nobody is around to see him that Draco gets up and walks forwards. Grief did not bring him here today; guilt did.

Fred Weasley is not the only person that Draco has come to mourn (although one would think that to _mourn_ you might actually have to _know_ the person) however and he walks a wide circle around the grave to one further back. He can already hear the voice echoing through his mind again, something he will never be able to rid himself of.

"_Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time. You must prune yours, must you now, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest"_

"_Yes, my Lord. At the first chance!"_

Draco shivers.

At the time, he can quite clearly remember sliding further down into his seat, fearing for his own safety and, quite frankly, not giving a damn about what his Aunt had really been asked to do. It was only when Crabbe- loyal Crabbe, one of his oldest and only friends- had succumbed to the flames that he had truly realised the impact of death. Crabbe had been the first person Draco cared about that had died.

Of course, Draco's own Aunt would perish just hours later yet although they had had some small slither of a relationship, if that was what it could be called, he felt no remorse for her. Bellatrix Lestrange had been far from innocent.

It was then, after the war had been won, that Draco saw her. It was then that everything hit him.

This girl, nay, woman lying dead was his cousin and no amount of name tags or estrangement could change that. She shared his blood, his genes; she was, biologically, the closest thing to a sister he had ever had, _would_ ever have...

...and she was dead. Gone. Never coming back.

Suddenly, those bodies littering the room weren't just _people_; they were mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, lovers. To him they meant nothing yet to someone else they meant everything and that 'someone else' may just have lost the biggest part of their lives. That 'someone else' may just have lost the one thing that they were living for.

After that, any small piece of grief Draco had had for his aunt disappeared.

Draco stops before the grave and takes a seat on the cold grass, closing his eyes as not to see the words imprinted onto the stone. To someone else, the words would be a comfort, a memory. To him, they are a reminder that his mother and father might just be the only family he would know now.

"Hello, Nymphadora" he begins because he knows that if he doesn't, he never will. His voice shakes but he continues. "I-I know that you don't like to be called that. Or... or I _think_ I do. I didn't know you so I can't exactly judge. I... I mean we only met once, d-do you remember? No, of course you don't. You're dead. I-I do though. I was at Hogwarts and you were patrolling the grounds. I called your father a Mudblood and you swore at me and pushed me. You didn't look happy. Goyle laughed. I'm sorry that that was the only contact we ever had. And I'm sorry that you're... dead. You too, Professor Lupin. You really were a good teacher. You should not have listened to people like my father. I'm... I'm sorry."

Taking one, long, shuddery breath, Draco rose and walked carefully back the way he had come. There was one more apology he had to make.

"Fred" he began, falling to his knees beside the grave. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't want you to die, I didn't want anyone to die. It should have been me, I know it. I'm sorry I ever had any part in this. I'm sorry that I lead to your death. I'm sorry... so sorry..."

Draco Malfoy broke. Tears came along with the nonsensical babble, the long string of apologies. Not for the first time in his life, Draco cried with guilt.

A short way away, unseen by the crying man stood a second man; shorter and stockier, with a shock of orange hair and unfading tear tracks glistening on his freckled face. George Weasley studied Draco Malfoy.

George knew that Draco would never admit to being here yet he had come all the same. He had shown remorse and for that, George would not tell a soul what he had seen.

**A/N: **Blah. Lost it at the end.

I needed to write _something_ because I haven't in almost two months. I have something else up my sleeve, something that relates back to 'Dear Mum and Dad' but I need the motivation to go with it.

I found this incredibly hard to write. Procrastination's a bitch.

I know, before anyone reminds me, that Draco is dreadfully out of character. Or, at least, the character _we _know him as. This was, however, inspired by the fact that is placed at the beginning of this story, which is something I found on Tumblr; whether it really is true or not, I don't know but it was so heart-wrenching that I felt the need to supply something to go with it. Hence why Draco is so out of character. I could have just left it at Fred but I thought I'd bulk it up a bit. *cough cough still not over Remus and Tonks' deaths cough cough*

*insert joke about the Voldemort/Draco hug here*


End file.
